


The American Fag

by graspthesanity



Series: C. Year Zero [3]
Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Dystopia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22542400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graspthesanity/pseuds/graspthesanity
Summary: Failed state. Failed country. Failed relationship. Failed life. Marilyn and Trent face the construction of eternity.
Relationships: Marilyn Manson/Trent Reznor
Series: C. Year Zero [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684438
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Read the prologue carefully, but at the same time it can be a piece of its own.

“Y'know... maybe having the dread of a shopping wife would drag you down.”

“Well... at least I don't have beating up scandals and no wife!” Trent raises his voice, his hands full of shopping bags for his numerous kids, as I focus on the wrapped toys, recalling how once we just raised one hand each to intertwine to shadow the moon and make out, mouths open and my lipstick going all over him, we'd pull each other's hair and I would feel him. 5th? 6th? A bit too much love for cumming inside. Which I knew about him. But we were all reckless. 

Trent was about to hit me with all the toys, but instead I took a step back. Trent won with his Tom Ford whatever the heck married straight men wear these days under a leather jacket. He leaned his neck back, closing his eyes and I recalled his eyes with mascara, kohl and my kisses, which would make him ticklish. 

But that was long gone. It was as if I was drawing with chalk on a chalkboard and his line was perfectly straight now as a relationship should be, while mine was doing zig-zags due to the shattered chalk. I kept pressing with force until it broke. 

So many women, so many girls, grooming, abuse, drugs, alcohol, make up, drag, wigs. Fucking everything up and screaming. Screaming.

I lunched at a stall and sat on the floor, packing my jacket for a pack of cigarettes. My mind was skipping places, rides and everything. 

We had fucked so many times in bathrooms until blood and make out even with a broken tooth. Trent spiralled more and more and I held him, as if I were in a brides dress. Holding the dear husband and then leaning down to press a kiss on him. But then he snapped, cut his hair, groomed up, got a wife and it started feeling like with every kid he was screaming at the mirror, working out... Something was wrong.

I ended up snorting coke, chewing on some pill by prescription to counter and then a joint was smoked outside where I had just faced Trent. I saw his wife pop out one store and in another and then Trent on his phone, carrying more bags to his car now. 

I walked behind him, my boots making a heavy noise, but he kept his attention on the phone.

“Knife play?” He had opened a beer bottle, both of us snickering as he cut his finger and we fucked. 

When he turned around, I had a Swiss knife to his throat and a joint out of my mouth. My movements were slow, but Trent's were slower to drop the bags and he opened his mouth way too late, as I kneed him in the stomach, missing the groin. I tried again, but instead I kept the Swiss knife against his throat now, pushing him into the car. I was on top. 

“Fucking drive.” He blinks, embarrassed of his hazel eyes memories. “FUCKING DRIVE YOU ASSHOLE!”

“THEN GET THE FUCK OFF ME! GET THE FUCK- GET THE FU-” I pressed harder. 

“Shut the fuck up and drive.” I crawled to the passenger seat, pointing the Swiss knife at him, as we drove away from the mall. I told him where to drive, but I kept getting bored, cigarette, joint, anti-nicotine, pills and offering a trembling Trent. Only a rough scene teaches a man how to fight, not a shitty gym. 

We drove to the lake side. 

“Where now?” He asked. Trembling, lips bleeding from biting them so hard and hair sticky from nerves. 

“DRIVE!”

“IT'S A FUCKING LAKE BRIAN, WE WILL DROWN!”

“WE'RE IN HELL, REZNOR AND I'M TAKING YOU WITH ME!”

I punched his cheek, holding the knife, crawling into the driver's space and pressing my leg for speed, kicking off the break. 

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” Trent screams wildly, as we drive in, the water slowly filling up, I stick the Swiss knife in the hand which tries to reach for his phone and he screeches and I mute it with my tongue. I swing my other leg to him. 

I'm in a riding position and I look down, his boner already immersed in the water as the car drowns, only trees to witness the fall of rock stars. What were were?

We keep kissing. 

Only when the water reaches my ears, I feel his arms around me and in the water we open our eyes...

Last breath shared. Before he pushes me away, but I keep clawing to him, blood swirling in the water, we can no longer speak and these are our final minutes, seconds,

Second. 

He opens his eyes again and looks at me, leans closer, grabs me by the collar and smashes my body against the window, but all in vain. I pass out.

And he speaks to me in bubbles. I pass out. But I yank his hand with me to the dark.


	2. I

I believe in the system we've created.

But I saw him, through the flames. I screamed and screamed.

Not in this.

Not when people get killed for sexuality, identity, race and everything.

They said you get punished for your next life.

I get slammed against the police car quite harshly, as the officers try to stomp out the fire on the oldest? One of the oldest things now... The American Flag as it had once been. It's the dawn of a new era. Impeach, impeach, impeach, people stopped wanting, we've just all been brainwashed and then I went to the street. I kept walking.

It was on display. Power.

I climbed.

Why didn't they preserve it better?

I lit a cigarette as people were already arguing that blue versus red versus blue versus red versus blue made sense. Then I saw the flag, ripped it off, all old fabric and all. Displayed it upside down, when people made silence, as if I were a martyr, sitting on top. Then after midway of the cigarette... I took the lighter and lit the damn thing.

Sirens. Thunder with no rain.

Sirens.

“Reznor!”

Sirens.

I could see the man with his eyes closed through the flames. His whole face was like a canvas and suddenly his ugly features were covered by blood... Heaven's blood. God was crying through Christ.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

I fall as the man becomes an oil painting. White under the eyes, blue around the cheeks and a distinct laughter from another life.

They've hit the pole enough, many times for me to fall.

Was the flag... The only thing we believed in?

Was the flag the only faint shadow?

I get shoved against the police car.

“Trent Reznor you are arrested for crimes against humanity... Against the state... Against America. Whatever you say now will be used against you in court.” I get shoved again until my teeth bleed and I hear silence. I don't hear protesters. Slam. Push. Spit. The flag doesn't stop burning.

We've been given no future.

What year is it now?

Was it Wednesday yesterday?

Fuck Fridays.

I spat out blood, as it poured out of my broken nose.

Courts have been abolished. Formality.

“You will be given the death penalty.”

I believed in that.

I plead guilty in the car. I get shoved the blood of Christ against me-

From a Gatorade bottle. I open my eyes and there I am. Empty, white corridors. Applause.

I keep walking, walking, my head flashing now from the concussion.

How many

How many were jailed and ready to get killed?

All of them were here and none were killed.

Because... It would anger the uncontrollable desire of the crowd, who believed that we should all live. Tax money to wrong places, when people die on the streets. No food. Declared state of emergency. President after president. Impeach! Impeach! Impeach!

As I walked... No one had been killed.

So... no one ever got the death penalty?

Why?

I kept walking and walking.

I was in the corridor with white walls and black doors, with a little post office hole, to get offered food.

“Your pick.”

“They say they call him The American Fag.”

“Why?”

“Why would you suck dick now? It's so 2000s.”

I could hear cackling and I put my head down. I pushed the left to me door and got locked in. I looked at the mirror... I could see my old grown out black hair and I screamed, pulling my skin.

“Welcome Reznor.” He spoke. And I threw up into the sink.

“Maybe death will catch up on you, faggot.” My body was in convulsions as I kept throwing up.

“Brian.” And I vomited again.

“I'm no faggot like you.” Brian's voice echoed and then I saw him, doing circles in the middle of my vast cell on fours. He was all dressed in black latex... The painting being his face and the latex showing off his penis generously. Then he towered above me, as I watched our shadows.

The shadows were so close that they were kissing, as I watched, Brian digging his nails into me, slowly going down and down, down. Even his fingers were latex, which had some lubricant of some sort. He traced them down and I screamed as I saw blood. He kissed the waistline of my jail pants and his tongue run a line on my zipper. I felt like everyone was watching and I tried to push the fiend away, but he kept licking the zipper until it melted like ice cream, exposing my flaccid cock.

I closed my eyes, my shoulders shaking-

“Welcome to hell.” And I stood up, I had been on my knees and I could feel lipstick smeared on my lips. Why do we make the male/female attraction default?

Matte. It wasn't rubbing off and I looked up. The ceiling was awfully high and I had no corners in my room, it could've been a good spiral staircase here if someone wanted to. But instead it was me.

“Where the fuck are you?!” I screamed and slammed my entire body against what could be presumed a wall, my ribs aching. “Brian!”

“WHAT?”

“WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE?” I SLAMMED MYSELF AGAINST THE DOOR NOW.

My head pounding now and I could hear his awful stained laughter and powder of cocaine and creams to stay juvenile.

I dreamt.

I dreamt a lot in that cell, because I didn't want to hear his laughter which turned into questions and then into pure deadly silence, a game of darts to see who would shoot a question first. A story of two lovers, who became insane and God decided to put back on the chess board. I hate chess. I dreamt of how shy I once was, how I would try to go against the flow of corridors, as everyone was straight and then it was as if I decided to be normal. Cut my hair, got a wife and I bred like there was no tomorrow. But why was I happy? I was never happy. I'd walk the streets like a soldier and I'd shoot policemen, silencers on and I shot them like Brian would shoot animals prior. He was the one who taught me how to aim and to make the creature suffer. Only my scale was bigger, it wasn't a spectacle, it wasn't a show, it was it's own fucking parade.


	3. II

But all dreams come to an end and nightmares emerge, grabbing you by the throat. It’s not even the fact that we were never lovers, just some sick fucks who managed to explore sex within each other and then something cracked between us and it wasn’t fireworks like we thought it would be. It was a dog’s neck, right in front of me. Brian saying that he was suffering and then he was charged for endless torture upon humans and not only. Pets were many of them, as they would reach boredom with him and one night I saw him with a knife above his head, straddling me, my morning wood inside him and one last kiss, before he would´ve stabbed me to death. 

But there was no love, yet when they opened his apartment… I saw that it had been more than an infatuation. HE had been obsessed and in love with me, leaving photos of me hanging and clipping of other photos wherever I would show up as a protestor for rights. 

Why?

Everyone had chemistry if you looked enough and you waited for them to crack under some sort of pressure, eventually every two human beings would have sex. That was something a biology teacher had said to me, which stuck despite flunking me the second time I had Biology with her. It made no sense, the red lines, the red on the paper which would now be blood I assumed. I wondered if I was safe here or if I would die in solitude before I would ever see the light of day again, voices started creeping in from watching the walls spin and I wondered why did anyone ever believe that killers and etc deserved better? Why not… just kill the scum of earth when America was a bunch of Nazis anyway? No one wanted peace. Everyone wanted to bomb Russia, China, the middle east one way or another. 

Brian didn’t seem to want to speak today, no matter how many times I would ask or maybe it was merely because someone used duct tape to shut his annoying as fuck hell of a mouth, just to stop him from screeching during the shot. I still had no idea why we needed tranquilizers when this place felt like it was made for us to just fall into and the door was hard to reach anyway and how would you even break out of a circular prison when the vent was oddly high up, no person tall enough would be able to reach three metres above their height on a bed, no chair was given so it was always bed bed bed. 

The other days were less thrilling, it seemed odd now that Brian had shut up… Maybe it had been my observation that I was alone, which exercised the demon out of me? Well, there was no doubt that Marilyn was a demon. It seemed odd that there were so many talks that the death penalty was at all-time high yet they kept every single one of us. I suspected that some of us had become trees already and we’d be skinned or branched… Just to understand why were we dying in such a peculiar way? I mean… there had to be some sort of use for us, right? 

It seemed strange to miss someone who you didn’t really miss anymore and maybe they were building a house of cards out of the criminals. I wasn’t sure. All I knew is that they had conveniently placed me and Brian in the rooms nearby. I couldn´t figure out where he´d be and once when I was sedated I thought the nurse doing the shot was Marilyn back when he had long red hair and he smiled at me, a very small smile, barely noticeable but far from being expressionless and some sadistic tint in his drenched red eyes, which would spill blood eventually. I wondered what the fuck was happening… 

My body would melt after the shot, there were days when the shot made sense and others when it didn’t. I felt like Brian was always like a barking asshole dog… So why was there no bark? Where was he hiding? But my body ached far too much for me to do anything… I could only sit back and watch, as if everything was taken away from me. Which it was, in hindsight. I couldn’t even speak to the nurses or anyone, so C. could’e killed everyone besides our sterile facility already and we were the only ones working like clockwork and who wanted a society started out of criminals? But then the ruckus was that then the leaders were the nurses and doctors who sedated us. Would they want to be the new rulers or they hid here from C. too? Were they scared to take over? Did they even turn on the telly? Did they know? 

Well, we sure as hell couldn’t turn on the telly, because we didn’t get any and see the collapse of the future we had all been building together, like a bees nest and in the end we got it kicked down by a football or a baseball bat and we were the locked in bees with no purpose only to breathe and decay eventually, leaving a forest behind. 

The first time I got into jail was stupid, it was for being a rent boy on my own and I didn’t want to divide the money with the police officer. I just wanted some extra cash, so that I could maybe pursue something… Buy a camera, buy a guitar, buy anything at all, but instead I couldn’t put the music in my head to the picture or to the art I’ve imagined, I practiced and bought, got caught and gave up. Just exhausted for life and realizing that maybe it simply wasn’t for me. Who knew? Who decided how society would turn its vengeful eyes on me? It was a small misstep, a small wrong kiss and it could all be the reason to fall onto the tracks to make it cliché, but we still die out of a love that we burn ourselves with to crisp and then wonder where had we gone all this goddamn time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long delay, I was busy with other stories! But here you go and hope you'll enjoy it!


	4. III

Picture this:  
There’s a piano,  
Lonely, yet playing in the middle of the oval room, as I still have some cigarettes on me, Brian.   
That’s how I’m telling you this, as my nails turn red from the pressure I put on them to scratch the wall away.   
We’re dancing. I believe it’s a waltz and we’re back to being young.   
I believe that somewhere out there, we’re still there… together.   
Not like this. 

I keep smoking, wondering how the guard managed to sneak me a box of cigarettes so that everything would be drenched in cigarette smoke. They call me a witch, a culprit and patient zero. 

Patient zero. 

C.

They slam me against the wall, as I try to relax but my imagery is that I’m eating drywall to get to you, because I can’t hear you anymore. 

They yell at me if it was through cigarettes. 

They yell at me if it was through weed. 

“It was through longing! Love! Emotion! A spark between neurons!”

And they kick me down. Knowing that the point of patient zero is to spread… to die and spread… I yelp with every kick. 

I see us on a swing, only I slip when I reach the highest point and I fall with a loud bang, I hear the screams of the other guards, as my blood starts to trickle and fade into the linoleum of the oval room. My screams echo. 

They spring out. 

My arms flare and stretch, I become thee…  
When I open my eyes I have a million. 

I have roots, I’m skinny again and my flesh covers the branches. 

I overgrow the place, picking your bones up to my mouth with your lifeless corpse I’ve imagined. I had promised that time would not exist. I had promised that I’d come back and take you away. 

Just like air handles the smoke.


End file.
